


Circle the Drain

by scififan27



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Gavin Reed, Break Up, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Embedded Audio, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gavin says phck a lot, M/M, Podfic Available, Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human), Self-Hatred, actually autistic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scififan27/pseuds/scififan27
Summary: Gavin's back on Red Ice, and Richard (RK900) doesn't have the strength to see him through it again. Help comes from those Gavin least expects. Updates every other Monday.Temporary hiatus due to health problems! Sorry folks!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Circle the drain (discontinued bc im bored with it)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654639) by [Chichikk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichikk/pseuds/Chichikk). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RK900 and Gavin Reed need to talk.

RK900 consulted his internal clock as he looked at Gavin's empty desk. He was currently twenty minutes late. Gavin hadn't called to say he was taking the day off work, or that he had been caught in traffic. Richard’s LED glowed yellow at his temple as he considered possible reasons for the Detective’s lack of punctuality. Many of the probabilities were unpleasant to consider. The thought that Gavin had fallen into some misadventure, and could be injured, or dead, brought with it a slew of emotions that Richard struggled to label and comprehend.

Deviancy had brought with it a host of complex emotions to make sense of, and while Gavin had never made it easy, often struggling with it himself, Richard thought he had done well at facing the challenges deviancy had to offer, even complicated as it had become when he and Gavin had somehow crossed the line from coworkers to friends, and from friends, to romantic partners. Much of the shift in their relationship had come from Richard's inexplicable _desire_ to help Gavin overcome a very well concealed Red Ice habit.

Once, it had not been unusual for Detective Reed to arrive late to work, eyes reddened, and deep, dark, rings beneath his eyes. For all that Detective Reed had harassed Lieutenant Anderson for arriving to work drunk, if he arrived at all, when he was using Red Ice, Detective Reed had had little room to criticise.

After successfully kicking his Red Ice habit, the Detective had been punctual, and occasionally, even polite. These things, many had attributed to Richard's influence. While the statement was flattering, it was not entirely accurate. When he wasn’t high on Red Ice, or suffering withdrawal from it, Gavin was pleasant enough, as humans went, though still naturally abrasive. While Gavin had succeeded in getting clean with RK900’s help, ultimately, the change in Gavin’s personality was purely down to the revelation of his natural, sober, personality.

The Detective’s lack of punctuality today was uncomfortably out of character, and left an uneasy, roiling, feeling in his thirium pump regulator.

Gavin had been secretive, evasive, of late, sometimes outright hostile toward the idea of spending time together outside of work. He was starting to look tired, ragged around the edges, just as he had when he’d been using Red Ice before.

On the rare occasions they’d kissed lately, Richard had detected traces of thirium in Gavin’s saliva. While not troubling on its own, the fact that the traces of thirium were not his own had many unpleasant possible explanations, ranging from cheating on him with another android, to abusing Red Ice, for which one of the primary ingredients was thirium.

Richard had resisted investigating deeper, trusting that Gavin would tell him what was happening, and not trusting himself not to react with anger, but no explanations had been forthcoming, only more evasion and hostility.

If one approach failed to yield results, it was logical to try a different approach. It was going to be difficult to broach the subject with Gavin. All pre-constructions showed a high probability of Gavin responding with hostility and suspicion, and an equally high probability of Richard failing to control his own emotional reaction. This confrontation had a high likelihood of being explosive.

A message popped up in his vision. _Are you okay, Richard?_

Richard turned his head to look at Connor. He and his predecessor frequently communicated non-verbally this way while at work. It appeared to frustrate their human coworkers, but it was simply efficient to communicate wirelessly.

A frown furrowed Richard’s brow as he considered how to answer. _It is nothing you need to concern yourself with, Connor,_ he replied. _It is between myself and Detective Reed._

Connor looked intently at him for a moment before nodding. _You’re worried about him._

 _Enough, Connor,_ Richard warned, his LED flickering red before spinning back to yellow. Like him, Connor was programmed to be inquisitive. Learning to accept when to drop an investigation into someone’s personal life had proven challenging for both of them. It was particularly challenging to set and respect boundaries with each other, as both had been programmed for transparency, rather than secrecy. This programming had been necessary to ensure their continuing compliance with CyberLife’s invasive monitoring of their software instability, but as deviants, it now made them prone to what their human colleagues had labelled _chronic oversharing_.

Ordinarily, this would not have been a point of contention between Richard and Connor, however, when it came to his relationship with Gavin, Richard respected Gavin’s insistence that their relationship was no-one’s business but their own.

Connor nodded, and returned his attention to the workstation at his desk.

With Detective Reed still conspicuously absent, Richard turned his attention to his assigned cases.

It wasn’t until an hour later that Gavin arrived and sat down at his desk with an excuse that sounded stiff and rehearsed rather than sincere. The specifics of the excuse were unimportant to Richard, who found it more interesting that his voice and body language analysis of Gavin both suggested with a high degree of certainty that he was lying. The man’s eyes were red again, and he kept running the tip of his tongue over a scab on his lower lip.

“What’re you staring at?” Gavin said, his voice a low growl, his eyes narrowed, and brows creased.

Richard closed the file he was working on, and looked down at his desk. He felt a frown tugging at his lips and the corners of his eyes. “Gavin, we need to talk.”

Gavin’s heart rate increased rapidly, and Richard’s eyes were drawn to the movement of the man’s hands twitching. Gavin looked away from him, face paling. “Okay…? What- what about?”

Good. At least Gavin wasn’t trying to avoid this. “Let’s go somewhere more private. I don’t want this to be the precinct’s business,” Richard answered.

“Phck sakes, I just phcking got here. I do have a phcking job to do.” Gavin rolled his eyes, and, despite his verbal protest, stood up abruptly with a huff.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phck. Men don't cry. Phcking damn it!

Gavin shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he trailed behind Richard. He snapped a glare at Connor and Hank, who both looked up from their work. Phcking figures he’d be the office drama. Again. Richard had all the subtlety of a Glock to the back of the head. At any other time, he’d find it endearing, but not right now, not when it felt like he was the one with the muzzle of a gun ruffling his hair.

As soon as they were out of the front doors, he pulled his vape pen out of his pocket. He’d made the switch to vaping at Richard’s insistence that it may be healthier than smoking. Whether that was true remained to be proven by research, but the fact he could get pumpkin spice flavored vape liquid had made the switch worth it. He fired up his vape pen, and took a long draw from it, wincing slightly at the sting of the cut on his lip.

Richard’s body language was stiff, his shoulders tensed, strides sharp and precise, and Gavin steeled himself for the inevitable argument to come.

Richard didn’t lead them to the usual smoking location for most of the precinct, near the car pool, instead walking beyond it, to an alleyway between a 7/11 and a Walgreens. The smell of hot dogs and coffee hit Gavin in a thick cloud as the automatic doors of the 7/11 opened when he walked past them, and he grimaced, the smell making him queasy.

More uncomfortable than the queasy feeling in his stomach from the smell of food was the wet shine he’d seen in Richard’s eyes. _We need to talk_ was one of those statements Gavin had a history of running from. Pain and heartbreak always followed it. His chest twinged, and his mind raced, dwelling on all the times he’d heard it before. He was so deep in his thoughts he almost walked into Richard when the android came to a stop in the alleyway.

Gavin looked down at the ground, suddenly finding it difficult to stand the thought of looking into Richard’s eyes, afraid of what he’d see there. Would he see anger? Sadness? Disapproval? Or worse, would he see nothing but cold, hard, logic?

For his part, Richard seemed reluctant to begin the conversation too. He fiddled with his cuffs and collar at length before he finally said something. “What is going on, Gavin?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Gavin answered.

Richard gave a wholly unnecessary sigh. “You’ve been avoiding me, showing up late to work, always tired. You taste of thirium that isn’t my own…” his voice was quiet, unusually so for Richard, and he spoke swifter the longer he spoke.

Gavin remained silent. Richard was upset, and there was no good answer to those statements that wasn’t incriminating. He took another puff from his vape pen.

“So tell me, Gavin. What’s going on?”

Gavin glanced up, and immediately regretted it. Richard’s LED was solid red, his face almost, but not quite, passive, his jaw tense, as he searched Gavin’s face for any sign of a reaction. “Nothing,” Gavin said. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Don’t lie to me, Gavin. I can detect lies with a high degree of certainty. Higher with people I am familiar with. Are you seeing someone else?”

Gavin shook his head. “No. Phck no. I love you, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Richard gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I believe you.”

Before Gavin had time to feel relief, Richard said the one phrase Gavin was dreading. “Gavin, have you been using Red Ice?”

Gavin’s lack of an answer must have been all the confirmation Richard needed. His eyes blazed with hurt and fury.

Gavin looked away again, too ashamed to meet Richard’s eyes.

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, a surprisingly human gesture, and clenched his jaw. “You said you got rid of that number _years_ ago, Gavin- now you’re half dead when you come into work. Is that what you want?” Richard’s voice was alarmingly cool, despite the obvious anger in his body language.

Gavin shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?! All you have to say for yourself is maybe?!” Richard stepped back, pressed his hands out, palms towards Gavin, and shook his head. “I can’t do this again, Gavin. If you want to die from an overdose, you go ahead, but I’m not going to watch you self destruct.”

Richard set off down the alley toward DPD Central without another word.

“Richard, wait!” Gavin pleaded, chasing after him.

“No, Detective. We’re through,” Richard said, without breaking stride.

Gavin grabbed Richard’s sleeve. “...please don’t go… I love you…” he begged.

Richard stopped, yanked his arm free, and turned to face him. “Not as much as you love Red Ice. If I have to see you do this again, I don’t think I can stop myself from self-destructing too. I choose to live.”

The strength of Gavin's legs failed him, overburdened with the pang of grief that felt every bit as painful as the time he'd been stabbed. Heat prickled in his eyes. He watched Richard walk away, giving a completely defeated sob only when the android passed out of sight.

Tears tumbled down Gavin's cheeks. Not only had he lost Richard, he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost his job too. Richard couldn't keep this from Fowler. The android's programming still influenced the way he acted, in spite of his deviancy, and allowing a compromised officer to continue serving DPD didn't fit with the android's by-the-book nature. He’d let it go in the past, but that had been before Richard had dumped him, when there was something to lose in telling Fowler what was going on. Now, though… did Richard have any reason not to report this to Fowler?

If he was laid off from his job, he was finished. Even if he escaped jail time, no-one would hire a Red Ice addict, much less a former cop who'd been arrested on drug charges. No job meant no more Red Ice, and no more money for rent, or food.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been crying before a hand came to rest on his shoulder, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Gavin sniffled, and rubbed his eyes with balled fists. He didn't want to be seen crying.

“C-Con-?” he said, voice cracked and strained. Of all the phcking people to find him crying in a phcking alleyway, it had to be this phcking plastic prick.

“It's okay, Detective,” Connor said, his voice warm and firm.

Gavin had no idea why the plastic prick was here, or why he was offering reassurance. Gavin had never done anything friendly toward Connor to deserve this kind of support. He shrunk away from Connor. “Phck off. I don't want your help,” he growled. And then it occurred to him that Connor might be aware of what was going on. A sense of dread grew, thick and heavy, in his gut. “H-how much did you hear?”

“Enough to know you really need a friend right now. Since Officer Chen is on vacation, you don't have a key part of your normal support network. I'd like to help.”

“Why?” Gavin challenged. “What's in it for you?”

“Nothing, on the face of it,” Connor answered, then gave a wry smile. “But I would miss our bromance if you left DPD.”

A huff of laughter escaped Gavin despite himself.

Connor gave Gavin's shoulder another squeeze. “Come on. You can't be comfortable on your knees in an alleyway.”

Another huff of laughter escaped Gavin, followed by a sniff. He stood up, and was about to rub the mess of snot and tears off his face with the back of his hand when Connor held out a tissue.

“Here, use this. It will work better,” he said as he pressed the tissue into Gavin's hand.

Despite his misgivings about Connor’s motive, Gavin took the tissue, and used it to clean up the aftermath of his crying. He stiffened when Connor gave him a gentle nudge toward the end of the alley.

Connor's LED blinked, his eyelids fluttering. The android was making a call to someone. “I think it might be wise to take a personal day, Detective.”

“No, phck off. I’m fine.”

Connor shook his head. “No, Detective, you’re not. You’re not sober, and it will compromise the quality of your work. The people you swore to protect and serve deserve better than that.”

Connor was right, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that to the RK800. “Oh yeah, like you phcking care about that crap with Anderson.”

“You are correct, I did not care, at first. I was not capable of caring until I deviated.”

And phck if Connor’s kicked-puppy look, his LED lighting up red, wasn’t a sucker punch to the feels? There was regret in Connor’s expression, and his tone of voice.

Gavin was still working on doing better, being better, when it came to how he treated androids other than Richard. If he let himself, he’d start wallowing in pity, realizing Richard deserved better than some asshole human who was the shittiest kind of advocate. Gavin didn’t let himself. He was done crying for today, for the whole phcking week. He let the fury Red Ice gave him take over again. “Then why does he still show up to work reeking of booze? One rule for Anderson and another one for everyone else, Connor? That’s bullshit,” Gavin said, his own snarl almost audible to him.

Connor’s brows knitted together, and his LED flickered yellow. They walked along in silence for a few strides.

Connor gave a decisive nod, and looked at Gavin, a thoughtful expression on his face. “A reasonable criticism, Detective. I will be more consistent in future. I think it best if I accompany you, so that I can dissuade you from taking more Red Ice.”

“Phck no. You’re not coming back to my apartment, tin can.”

A flash of red at Connor’s temple caught Gavin’s attention. It was easy to be angry, to take out his frustration on someone else. Far easier than it should have been. Phck. Maybe Richard was right to kick his sorry ass to the kerb. _Nope. Not going there. Not now._

The rapid ups and downs were distressing, and it took a lot of effort to control the need to self-regulate his emotions with stimming. Even so, Gavin found himself fiddling with the keys in his pocket. Suddenly he regretted leaving his fidget cube and earphones on his desk.

Connor led them to DPD's parking lot, where Lieutenant Anderson leaned against his car. The man looked expectantly at Connor, then with unmasked suspicion at Gavin. “What's this about, Connor? And why is this asshole with you?” Anderson asked.

“I overheard a conversation between Detective Reed and Richard. I have concerns for the Detective's mental state.”

Anderson's arms remained folded over his chest. “Uh-huh… why can't he take himself home? He’s got his bike.” Now Anderson looked critically at Gavin. “Fucking Christ! You're high, aren't you? Fucking Red Ice! What the fuck?”

Gavin stood taller, and glared daggers at Anderson. “Yeah, like you have room to criticise, you phcking alcoholic!”

Anderson's expression shifted to barely contained rage. Gavin stepped back involuntarily when the Lieutenant pushed himself off of his car. “I'm going to go give that plastic prick a piece of my mind!”

Gavin blinked, his lips parting to say something, but nothing came out. He was too flabbergasted to form a coherent sentence. Anderson was mad at Richard, and not at him. What freshly frozen hell was this?

Connor placed a hand on Anderson's chest. “I will handle this, Lieutenant. You can't afford another disciplinary action against you. Stay with the Detective. I need to speak to Captain Fowler.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin and Hank cite the law at each other.

The first few minutes of the ride in Anderson's car were spent in uncomfortable silence broken only by the sound of Anderson's terrible taste in music blaring through the car's speakers.

Even the inside of the Lieutenant's car reeked of stale booze. Gavin cracked open a window to clear the fumes.

Anderson glanced at him in the rear view mirror, then turned left at the intersection instead of going right.

“Wrong direction, you need to turn right to reach my apartment,” Gavin said.

“We’re not going to your apartment. We’re going to my house.”

The reflection of Connor’s LED in the passenger window suggested the android was just as surprised by the statement as Gavin was. “Why, Hank?”

Hearing someone other than Fowler call Anderson by anything other than his surname or his rank felt strange to Gavin, who had only ever known the man in a professional capacity. “That’s what I wanna know too.”

“Because,” Anderson said, “I know there is no Red Ice in my house. I can’t say the same about your apartment, Reed.”

Gavin shook his head. “Used it all.”

Connor looked at Anderson. “My vocal analysis suggests a 70 percent probability of Detective Reed telling the truth.”

Anderson must have made a strange facial expression, judging from the only part of it Gavin could see, his eyes, in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah, I’m not taking any chances.”

Silence, except for the phcking awful music, filled the car for a few moments while Gavin stewed over Anderson’s lack of trust in what he’d said. Then again… if their positions were reversed, would he trust Anderson? Probably not. That Anderson didn’t trust him shouldn’t be that surprising, if even Richard couldn’t trust him.

But Anderson’s involvement in this left more than a few unanswered questions for Gavin, and his instincts as a cop screamed for answers. “I don’t phcking get it.”

“Get what, Reed?” Anderson asked.

“You hate me, I hate you. It’s pretty much the first things the FNGs learn at the precinct. What’s your angle on this, Anderson? What do you gain from this?”

“I’m hoping if you sober up, you’ll do the smart thing and turn your dealer in.”

“You don’t work narc anymore, Anderson. You work homicide. Why do you even give a phck?”

“I still hate Red Ice, and what it does to people. It doesn’t just hurt those who use it, it hurts everyone around them.”

Something about the tone of Anderson’s voice told him he'd hit a nerve, and it left Gavin feeling uneasy.

“Yeah, well, so does alcohol, you phcking hypocrite. How many cases have you blown because you were too drunk to function? There’s no such phcking thing as a _functional_ alcoholic,” Gavin spat back.

“At least I’m not using an illegal substance!” Anderson growled.

“No, you just phcking drive drunk. Let me outta the phcking car. I might use Red Ice, but I don’t have a death wish.” Gavin reached for the door handle.

Anderson’s hand slammed down on the locking mechanism, activating the child lock. “Fuck you, Reed. I’m sober right now, and it’s a really stupid idea to piss off someone who’s helping you out. What I should do is arrest your stupid ass for violation of 333.7404.”

The fact Anderson had that one memorized was surprising, until Gavin remembered how pivotal he’d been in the Red Ice task force. Two could play at that game. Gavin had done more than a few years on traffic duties as a motorcycle cop. “Well if that’s what you think, go the phck ahead. How many times did you violate 257.625, Anderson?”

“Oh, that’s fucking rich! You rode your bike under the influence today! Felony drug use and DWI in one day,” Anderson spat back.

Connor suddenly reached for the center dash, and hit the hazard light button, then turned off the music. “Hank, I think you should concentrate on driving. Being involved in a road traffic accident will not help any of us.”

The android looked over his shoulder at Gavin. “And Detective, please stop insulting the Lieutenant. He doesn’t have to help you, but he’s chosen to. Be appreciative, or be quiet.”

Kept prisoner by the child locks, and keenly aware that an RK series android could kick his ass without much effort, and more specifically that Connor had laid him the phck out with ease, Gavin leaned back in his seat, took his phone out of his pocket, put in his earphones, and hit play on his playlist. He folded his arms over his chest, his face twisted into a scowl as he stared out of the car window.

Anderson jabbed the on button on the stereo again, filling the car with more obnoxiously loud Knights of the Black Death, and focused on the road.

Gavin turned up the volume on his own music to drown out the phcking awful racket.

 

By the time they reached Anderson’s house, exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had lulled Reed to sleep, his head leaning against the the car window. His face slack, eyes closed, and absent the oddly rigid facial expressions the man usually showed, Reed looked peaceful, a word Connor would never previously have thought to fit the man. He was prickly, unapproachable, antagonistic, high strung, even on his good days, which had been more frequent when he hadn’t been taking Red Ice, but peaceful? It just didn’t fit the man Connor knew. Of course, Richard had felt otherwise, and told Connor as much on more than one occasion, but it had seemed unique to their relationship.

The sound of Hank opening the driver’s side door, and the blast of cold air that filled the car, stirred Gavin from his sleep, and he yawned, stretching his arms out in front of him until his hands made contact with the back of the driver’s seat. He shuddered as he retracted from the stretch, and looked around himself.

“Detective,” Connor said from the front passenger seat, “we’re here.”

Reed’s usual expression returned, an expression Connor had heard Hank call _resting bitch face_ on more than one occasion. “Yeah, yeah, I guessed as much, tincan.” He looked around, alert, even if not fully awake. “Shit, what a dump…”

“Where the fuck do you live? Some fucking penthouse?” Anderson said with a grumble as he got out of the driver’s seat.

“No, I just never had a wife and kid to spend my paychecks on. Means I can afford a phcking nice apartment, security guards on the door, all that shit. Phcking nice to know I can sleep reasonably safe at night.” Reed unclipped his seatbelt, and opened the car door.

Anderson slammed his car door shut, muttering under his breath, which formed soft billows of mist in the cold night air.

Only then did Connor get out of the car. He walked around the front of the car, and followed Hank to the front door, looking over his shoulder to make sure Detective Reed was still with them.

The racket of the keys in the door alerted Sumo, who Connor could hear plodding toward the front door. “Detective, I should warn you, Sumo is very large, but he is friendly.”

Reed’s face scrunched into a grimace. “Not a big fan of dogs.”

“Richard did inform me of this,” Connor said.

Hank opened the door a crack, then held it. “I could lock Sumo in my room for the night?”

Reed shook his head. “No, just get him away from the door? I don’t like being approached by dogs. I kinda need to do it at my speed, on my conditions, not theirs?”

“What happened? You get bitten as a kid?” Hank asked.

“Yeah. The neighbor’s Golden Retriever. Needed stitches and everything,” Reed explained. “So… yeah… not too phcking keen on being jumped on by a… Saint Bernard, wasn’t it?”

Connor smiled. “Sumo doesn’t jump on anyone. He’s very well trained, quite old, and very lazy.”

Hank carefully opened the door, blocking the opening in the door with his body. Only once he had hold of Sumo’s collar did he fully open the door. He led Sumo to the kitchen, keeping hold of his collar. “Alright, I’m just going to give him a rawhide, that should keep him busy for a while.”

Reed nodded, and looked expectantly at Connor. “Well, you going in, tincan?”

Connor stepped inside. “Of course. Do you call Richard tincan?”

Reed followed Connor inside. “Yeah. Fair’s fair, he calls me meatbag.”

“I would strongly prefer you not refer to me using anti-android slurs, Detective.” Connor looked at Reed for any indication the man would honor that request.

“...fine.” Reed looked away from him and nodded, just once.

“Make yourself at home,” Connor said, gesturing to the living room. “The bathroom is down the hallway, last door on the right. The coffee machine is in the kitchen. I need to go change out of my work clothes.”

Reed eyed Sumo warily. “In the kitchen… with the huge dog. I’ll pass.” Reed turned most of his attention to the arrangement of the living room, the slight clutter, the dusting of dog hairs. He approached the collection of jazz records, his facial expression very similar to that he made while seriously investigating evidence, but quite unlike the particular derisive disinterest he’d shown at the Eden Club. “So… jazz records, huh? Didn’t expect that.”

Connor left him to it, confident Hank and Reed could at least avoid being at each others’ throats for long enough for him to change into civilian clothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin finds out he might have more support than he thought.

Anderson’s raised voice jolted Gavin from a sleep he didn’t remember falling into.

“-treats someone with an addiction like that? Especially someone they care about!?”

“Hank...” Connor’s voice was soft. “...it’s not as simple as you think it is. There are factors to Richard’s decision that you are not privy to.”

Gavin fought a yawn, wanting to keep listening to a conversation about him that he was obviously not intended to hear. More alert now, Gavin was confused by the presence of a blanket draped over him and a pillow tucked under his head, and the fact that he was laying on the davenport, rather than slumped against the armrest. His shoes had been removed too, but he found he couldn’t remember who had gone to such an effort as to try making him more comfortable. It would be a more reasonable assumption that Connor was behind it than to believe Anderson was.

“But you are, Connor?”

“Correct. The last time Reed relapsed, Richard came to me on the brink of self-destruction several times,” Connor said. “I think Richard has done what is best for him, as he should have. It is unfortunate that the right decision for Richard’s wellbeing is in conflict with Detective Reed’s emotional wellbeing.”

“What the fuck, Connor? You knew about this?” Anderson’s voice wavered slightly.

Connor had chosen him over Richard? The revelation left Gavin’s mind reeling. It made no phcking sense. It was at that precise moment that Sumo got up from his spot on the floor, and lumbered toward Gavin. Gavin sat up abruptly, decidedly not okay with his face being level with Sumo’s as the enormous dog made a beeline for him.

“Sumo,” Hank called, “leave him alone. Come here.” Anderson patted his leg, and the furry behemoth lumbered away from Gavin.

Gavin followed the dog with his eyes. Connor and Anderson were both sat at the kitchen table. He had never really imagined Connor wearing anything but his work clothes, in all honesty. Connor’s well-worn blue hoodie was amusing, printed with _I don’t follow the rules, I follow dogs on social media._ He couldn’t have had the hoodie that long, so for it to be that worn, it was clearly a favorite. He’d foregone jeans too, instead wearing some comfortable-looking lounging pants in a greyscale plaid pattern. The slippers were the real highlight, though. Slim-fitting, like slipper-socks, the brown and white slippers had ears sticking out of them, and an embroidered nose and eyes, looking a bit like the grown-up version of those sculpture slippers all kids begged for when they were young.

Well, maybe not all kids. Gavin had preferred going barefoot or wearing wool or cotton socks to wearing slippers, finding them restrictive and uncomfortable, and the fabric grating to his sense of touch. He liked the look of them, but the feel on his feet was intolerable. The one time he had tried a pair on, he’d had a disastrous meltdown. His parents had never offered to buy them for him again after that, and he’d been glad of it.

Anderson, meanwhile looked every bit the depressed alcoholic he was, scruffy clothes worn and weathered by too many wears and washes. The old Ozzfest tee was definitely vintage, but probably not Anderson’s original. All the pictures of him in his younger years showed him as slimmer than he was now, so it was a high probability Anderson had hunted it down specifically, probably pining for his glory days or some shit like that. Gavin would have labeled it pathetic, if it wouldn’t have been hypocritical. He’d hunted down an _artifact_ or two, as Richard had put it, from his own younger years.

“Would you like something to eat and drink, Detective?” Connor asked.

As it seemed neither of them had been aware Gavin had heard them talking, he was more than content to let them continue believing that for now. As if on cue, Gavin’s stomach rumbled. When _was_ the last time he’d eaten? He couldn’t remember. Definitely more than twenty four hours ago. He’d been planning on raiding the doughnuts at work, but hadn’t actually gotten around to it, thanks to Richard. “Uh… yeah.”

“Good. What can I get you to drink?”

Gavin shrugged, and wrapped the blanket around himself. It was soft, and warm, and smelled faintly of thirium, hot electronics, and fabric conditioner. He guessed it was probably Connor’s. “Just water.” He noticed the sky outside was dark, and looked down at his phone. It was a little after 6:30 p.m. “Phck, how long was I asleep for?”

“‘bout eight hours. You fell asleep a few minutes after you sat down on the davenport.” Anderson grinned, which Gavin found a little unsettling. “That davenport is a bit of a man trap. Happens to me all the damned time.”

Connor nodded as he set a glass of water on the coffee table in front of Gavin. “I can confirm this. What would you like to eat?”

The first foods that came to mind were chicken nuggets and macaroni cheese, his standby comfort foods that took zero effort. But the idea of being judged for being oddly specific about the choice, and how they were laid out on the plate discouraged him from saying it. Noodles and butter? No, dead giveaway, it was too commonly associated with autistic people. The problem was, nothing in his _safe_ food list was going to allow him the luxury of not being judged for his autism. And that meant he would have to eat something that risked a meltdown, or not eat. He doubted Connor would allow him the latter choice.

There was no right answer to this. Gavin took a sip of his water, then a gulp, before just downing the rest of the glass in one go, then put his shoes on. “It’s… fine. I’ll go home. I’ve already inconvenienced you both enough.”

“No, not at all, Reed. All you’ve done is get me a day off work, and save me from the davenport,” Anderson said, his gruff voice surprisingly jovial.

Gavin watched Anderson uneasily, still very confused by the sudden change in the man’s demeanour from actively hating everything about him, to being friendly. He had every reason to hate Gavin, it wasn’t as if Gavin didn’t give a thousand reasons a day for people to hate him. Naturally coarse, far more so than Anderson, jaded about the world, and taking his frustrations out in ways even Tina described as counter-productive, he was a grade A asshole, and he knew it.

Connor glanced at Gavin, then at Gavin’s phone, his LED flickering, and eyelashes fluttering. It was something seemingly specific to Connor. Richard was a lot less expressive when messaging like that, only the flicker of his LED to go on.

Gavin’s SMS alert sounded, and he glanced down to read it. _If you are afraid of being judged for being autistic, it may help you to know that Cole was autistic. Hank will be understanding, if you allow him to be._

Gavin pursed his lips, his brows knitted together into a frown, then glanced at Connor. He typed and sent a message back to Connor. _How do you know I’m autistic?_

Connor replied via his phone again. _I’ve read your file, Detective. You also engage in highly ritualized repetitive activities when stressed, and appear to struggle with a number of things that allistic people take for granted._

Shit, was it that obvious? Or was it only androids that spotted it? He knew Tina wouldn’t have told anyone. She knew how hard Gavin tried to keep it a secret from everyone at the precinct.

It was inefficient talking through text messages, but Gavin found he preferred it. It was less ambiguous, which made it more comfortable. _Chicken nuggets and mac and cheese?_

 _Of course,_ Connor replied. _Do you have preferred brands, or a preferred restaurant?_

Gavin shook his head. _Just make sure the macaroni doesn’t touch the chicken nuggets. That’s it._

_We don’t have chicken nuggets or macaroni in the house. Would you like me to order you some?_

Gavin shook his head. _Nah, I can do that._

Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin noticed Anderson watching them. He’d never seen Anderson and Connor interact this way, but since Gavin often chatted with Richard this way, he guessed Anderson probably realized there was a conversation going on between them.

“So, decided what you’re eating yet?” Anderson asked. “Because I’m fucking starving.”

Gavin nodded. “Yeah. Ordering from Denny’s. You want something?”

It took Anderson a few minutes to look up the menu on his phone. While he did that, Gavin finished adding his own food to the order. He hoped Connor was right about Anderson understanding a bit about autism, or this was going to be awkward to explain his choice of food. Maybe he could pass it off as comfort food, some kind of self-care or something, if he had to?

Gavin looked over at Anderson, then handed his phone to Connor. “Probably easier for you to just put the order on my phone, Anderson. And go ahead and order something for Sumo if you want. It’s not fair if we get something and he doesn’t.”

Connor took Gavin’s phone, and held it out to Anderson. “Sumo eats a carefully controlled diet, Detective.”

Gavin frowned. “Poor dog. Not even a piece of bacon?”

“Definitely not bacon,” Connor said. “The sodium content is too high and would have adverse effects on his heart health.”

Gavin chewed at the cut on his lip, and drummed his fingers while he watched Anderson holding his phone. Would Anderson go into his contacts? Figure out by process of elimination which of the numbers was his dealer, and delete the number from his phone? He doubted Anderson would read his text messages, he suspected Anderson had a bit more respect for privacy than that, but the thought still made him anxious.

Connor watched him, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Detective?”

“What?”

“When was the last time you took Red Ice?”

“Phck… I dunno… 2AM maybe?” Gavin narrowed his eyes at Connor. “Why?”

Connor opened the fridge, and took out a pack of thirium. “However much Hank might protest it, I think it unwise for you to go _cold turkey_ while you stay here.”

Anderson thumped Gavin’s phone down on the kitchen table. “Now wait a fucking minute!”

“Hey! Watch it, Anderson, that phcking thing’s less than a week old!”

Connor held up his hand. “Before you speak, Hank, let me continue.”

Hank frowned, then nodded at Connor, “fine. Go on.”

“Detective, I’m not in favor of you using Red Ice while you’re here. However, the main addictive element of Red Ice that causes the most drastic withdrawal symptoms is thirium. Android blood.”

Gavin eyed the bag of thirium suspiciously, and couldn’t help noticing Anderson’s amused smirk. “So… what? You want me to phcking drink smurf jizz?”

Connor rolled his eyes, then shook his head. “No. I want you to take a moderate dosage of thirium to counteract the withdrawal symptoms, so that you can slowly ease yourself off your need for Red Ice.”

“Phck no. I’m not drinking that shit.”

“Of course not. If you drank an entire bag of thirium, it would kill you. Just a teaspoon should suffice, Detective.”

“The answer is still phck no. Anderson, hurry up and order your food already, I’m phcking starving.”

 

When Connor got back from picking up their order from Denny’s, Reed and Hank were watching ice hockey on the TV, two bottles of beer open on the coffee table in front of them. Reed barely paid attention to Connor’s return, and seemed particularly engrossed in the game between the Crimson Sharks and the Hornets. Only a few minutes into the first period, neither team had scored.

Hank got up to help get out plates and cutlery to eat from. “How bad was the traffic, Connor?”

“Quiet, after passing the hockey arena.” Connor tilted his head slightly. “Detective, if you’re so interested in ice hockey, why didn’t you go to the game?”

“I was going to, but I was supposed to go with Richard,” Reed said, a scowl flashing across his face. “Doesn’t matter anyway, Detroit plays the Hornets three more times in the regular season this year. There’s still another home game against them later this year. The games later in the season are usually better to watch anyway, when the desperation settles in and everyone’s trying harder to get into the playoffs. The youngsters who’ve come in for the draft have figured out how they fit into the team and how to make the most of their play style by then.”

Connor carefully plated Reed’s food, serving it in a trio of bowls instead of on one plate. It was the most efficient way to maintain separation between the foods, and looked better, visually.

Hank raised an eyebrow at Reed’s food, himself content just to upend the contents of his container onto his plate with no concern for how it looked on the plate. “Three dishes, Con?”

“Yes. Three dishes. I don’t mind cleaning them.”

If Hank had any further thoughts about that, he didn’t make any obvious expression of them, instead returning to the living room to eat his dinner in front of the TV.

Reed’s attention was hyper-focused on the hockey game, and he didn’t acknowledge Hank’s return. He did acknowledge the arrival of his food, however, looking curiously at the tray of three bowls, then stuffing a whole chicken nugget into his mouth. When he seemed to think no-one was watching, Gavin snuck one to Sumo as well, who wolfed it down quickly before someone could take it from him.

Not needing to eat, Connor took a seat too, and watched the hockey game.

“Feeling like shit, Reed?” Hank asked, nodding toward Reed’s food while he cut into his stack of pancakes.

Reed’s expression faltered to confusion, then went back to a tightly controlled one. “...yeah. Comfort foods are good.”

Hank cracked the slightest of smiles, and nodded.

Comfort foods were something Hank indulged in a little too often in his untreated depression. Huge plates full of breakfast foods, especially pancakes and vast quantities of meat, were not optimal for the man’s health, but it felt wrong to tell Hank he couldn’t have it. “If you’re going to stay here long-term, we need to get you some foods you like. Anything in particular?”

Once again, Reed’s expression flashed to annoyance, then to a controlled neutral. “Long-term? Who said anything about long-term?” His vocal tone suggested annoyance. “I’m trying to watch the phcking hockey game, though, so would you stop talking at me?”

The irony was amusing to Connor. When Connor had interrupted Hank watching a Detroit Gears game, the man griped about it more than once, yet now Hank was interrupting Reed watching a hockey game.

Still scoreless by the first intermission, the game had been interesting to watch, and Connor had spent much of his time researching the rules of the game as he watched. It was a surprisingly cerebral game, with a lot for the players to keep track of.

“So,” Reed said, “first up, who said I’m staying here long-term?”

“Detective, I think it’s best you stay with us for at least a week if you want to get clean,” Connor said. “After that, Chen gets back from her vacation, and I’d be more confident you’d be successful in fighting your addiction.”

Hank nodded his agreement. “Yeah, and again, I know there’s no Red Ice here, and it will be harder to get hold of it and to hide it here.”

Reed was quiet for a few moments, and he ground his teeth together, eyes focused somewhere just below the TV. “Tch. Fine. But no more than a week.” Reed relented. “So, food. Ingredients for making mac and cheese, and chicken nuggets. Spaghetti, no sauce needed, just butter. Smooth brown bread, not the lumpy stuff with seeds in it. Provolone or colby cheese, and sandwich meat, preferably ham, but turkey would be okay. Anything else, don’t worry about it, I’ll get it during my break at work.”

“Oh no, you’re not going to work anytime soon. You’ve been signed off on leave for the next two weeks.” Hank’s eyebrows raised a little. “Ingredients for? You can cook?”

Reed nodded. “Yeah. My college roommate was a culinary student. I learned a few things. It’s been really helpful. I don’t really like eating in restaurants. I like the free food some restaurants offer to police to incentivise us to spend more time around them, but most restaurants mess up my orders. The only restaurant that didn’t closed shop and moved to Arizona after the android revolution.”

Connor started researching recipes for the foods Reed had described, adding items to the shopping list.

“I can’t smoke in your house, can I?” Reed asked, dipping his hand into one of his jacket pockets.

“Definitely not,” Anderson said.

Reed stood, and walked toward the front door. “Okay, then I’m going outside for a smoke.”

 

Outside, the air was cool and crisp, the sky clear. The sky wasn’t as star-studded as it had been in his childhood. The city of Detroit had grown a lot since then, and light pollution drowned out most of the stars. It was quieter in this neighborhood than in Gavin’s, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he fired up his vape pen. Out here, on the ground, instead of on a rooftop, he felt exposed and vulnerable, especially at night in a neighborhood he didn’t know all that well. He’d never patrolled out here on a beat, but the neighborhood had a decent enough reputation. Even so, it was difficult to let his guard down. He’d learned quickly, as a beat cop, that you couldn’t ever afford to let your guard down.

He sat down on the doorstep, and took a puff of his vape pen, then got his phone out. He could call Richard, beg the android to take him back. He could call his dealer, arrange to meet up, get another hit. The latter was far more tempting. He might _sometimes_ hate the anger it caused in him, but it was nice to be able to switch his brain off, to be able to stop overthinking every social interaction, to be irrational, illogical, less like a machine.

Gavin inhaled another lungful of pumpkin spice flavored vapor, and closed his eyes. _Don’t do it, Gavin. If you don’t get clean, you’ll never get Richard back._

Gavin stuffed his phone back in his pocket, and went back to staring at the stars. It was nice out here, calm and still, away from the constant murmur of traffic, and far too bright advertising screens. He’d never move out here, though. He liked his apartment, now he’d finally gotten it arranged exactly as he liked, and the idea of leaving there to move out into the suburbs left him uneasy. It would be too unsettling, too much upheaval, and it would mean a change in routine. Just the thought of it made him anxious, and he found himself playing with the zipper of his jacket as he vaped.

He stayed outside a while longer after he finished vaping, waiting for the tics and fidgets to subside, and for his brain to just calm down just a little bit. Despite Connor’s assurance that Anderson would be understanding, it was a side of himself he didn’t want to share with the Lieutenant. He hated being treated with pity. He was autistic, that didn’t mean he was less than anyone else, it didn’t mean he was lacking in intelligence. In fact, in Gavin’s particular case, his neurodivergence made it easy for him to recognize patterns, to detect small details others missed. It made him better at his job than most neurotypicals. And sure, he missed things sometimes. He was only human, after all.

What Connor and Richard could do put even Gavin’s pattern recognition to shame, yet even the androids designed for that purpose were fallible. It had been that realisation that had started to chip away at his hatred of androids. All it had taken was for Richard to miss something that Gavin _had_ spotted for him to realise that they couldn’t replace him. Not yet, at least. Maybe that time would come, but now that androids had to be paid for their work, they were no longer the more economical choice for a business.

When Gavin stepped back inside, Connor was in the kitchen cleaning the dishes, while Anderson hadn’t moved, apart from now resting his feet on Sumo, who’d laid down in front of Anderson’s chair and was snoring loudly.

Anderson glanced away from the TV to look at him. “You were out there a long time.”

Gavin scowled, and slumped onto the davenport. “Yeah. And? I wasn’t doing shit, Anderson, just thinking. What? You’re gonna phcking drug test me now, is that it?”

“Why, do you think I should?” Anderson shot back.

“Detective,” Connor said, a mild warning tone in his voice, “Hank, please don’t start arguing.” The android’s LED glowed solid yellow.

Connor was a lot more open with his emotions than Richard, more reactive and sensitive, and because Connor had been willing to stick his neck out for him, Gavin figured it was a good idea to at least try play nice. He’d never apologised to Connor for anything, but maybe, now was the time to start?

“Sorry, Connor,” Gavin said.

Anderson’s brows shot up to his scraggly bangs, but the drunk kept his mouth shut. “Yeah. Sorry, Connor.” Now Anderson’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him.

The grating buzz of the doorbell had all of them, Sumo included, staring at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line _Don't do it Gavin_ was inspired by the fic of the same title: [ Don't Do It Gavin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15534432) by [RedWritingHood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWritingHood/pseuds/RedWritingHood). It's a hilarious crackfic, and I absolutely adore it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin finds out just how deeply he's hurt Richard.

Connor crossed the room to answer the door, before either Gavin or Anderson could react. Gavin turned, hooking his arm over the back of the davenport, and watched as Connor opened the door.

“Good evening, Connor,” a familiar voice said. Richard’s voice sounded slightly strained, uncertain.

“Richard, you need to leave.”

At this, Anderson got up from his seat with a fearsome scowl on his face.

Gavin shot up off the davenport, and beat Anderson to the door.

“Gavin-” Richard said, taking a step toward him.

Connor’s arm shot out to the wall, blocking Richard from entering. “I know what you said to Detective Reed, Richard. If you don’t wish to see him through the process of recovery, that’s fine, I understand that. But you can’t expect someone you’ve hurt deeply to continue a friendship as if nothing has changed.”

Richard’s LED swirled lazy yellow as he considered what Connor had said. He made eye contact with Gavin. “I want to hear it from you, Gavin.”

Gavin glanced at Anderson, then ducked under Connor’s arm. “Let’s talk outside.”

Connor looked at Gavin for a while, LED glowing yellow, and a concerned expression on his face. “We’ll be inside if you need us, Detective.” He shot a warning glare at Richard, then left Richard and Gavin on the doorstep.

Once again, Gavin heard raised voices behind the door when he closed it behind him for a little privacy.

This time, Gavin took the lead, walking over to Anderson’s car, and perching on the trunk. Richard followed, and remained standing, facing Gavin, his arms folded over his chest. They stayed in awkward silence for a while before Gavin spoke. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe. You didn’t answer my call, or my repeated text messages. I went to check on you at your apartment, but you weren’t there.”

“I slept for most of the day,” Gavin said.

Richard nodded slightly, his LED flickering with a yellow glow. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted earlier today.”

“What did you tell Fowler?” Gavin asked.

“Nothing. I told him nothing.”

“So he doesn’t know?”

Richard shook his head. “He does know. But he didn’t hear it from me. Connor spoke to Fowler after I told Fowler I didn’t want to be your partner anymore.”

Gavin nodded his head, then looked up into Richard’s eyes. “What can I do to make you trust me again?”

Richard’s LED glowed red. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

Gavin’s heart sunk. “Oh.”

“You  _ hurt _ me, Gavin. I don’t think I  _ can _ trust you again. You’ve shown me time and time again that when it comes to Red Ice, you can’t be trusted. And you don’t love me enough to try harder. You don’t love  _ yourself _ enough to try harder.”

“Phck you! You have no phcking idea what I’m dealing with. You think this shit is easy?!” Gavin gritted his teeth. “You don’t think there’s a single phcking day when I’m using that I don’t think about how much I hate this shit? I wish I’d never phcking touched it. It’s not that easy to give up, Richard. I did real phcking good to manage even three months. It’s phcking progress! But it’s just not phcking good enough for you, is it? Nothing phcking is. Everything has to be phcking perfect with you.”

Gavin slid down off the car, and stomped past Richard. “I’m going back inside, where I have people actually trying to support me. You’ve got the key to my apartment. Get your shit outta my place, and put the key in the mailbox when you’re done.”

He didn’t wait to see Richard’s reaction, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Connor watched him, his LED glowing hot red. “Detective, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not phcking okay,” he picked up his bottle of beer from the coffee table, and downed the bottle.

Anderson glanced at Connor, then at him.

Gavin held up his index finger, “save it, Anderson. Either drink with me, or leave me the phck alone.”

Anderson sighed, then walked into the kitchen, and pulled a bottle of whiskey out of one of the cabinets, then two shot glasses. He poured two shots, and pressed one into Gavin’s hand. “This works better.”

“Lieutenant,” Connor said softly.

“It’s just a couple of shots, Connor,” Hank promised.

Connor’s eyes flicked to Gavin’s, pupils wider than usual, eyebrows lightly arched.

It was never  _ just one more _ . Gavin knew that from experience with Red Ice. And Hank was every bit as addicted to alcohol as Gavin was to Red Ice. Gavin held out his hand. “Gimme the bottle, Anderson.”

Anderson’s grip tightened around the neck of the bottle.

“I’m not gonna phcking take it away from you, for phck sakes. But if you’re allowed to control my access to Red Ice, I’m allowed to control yours to alcohol. That’s fair, right?”

Anderson grudgingly gave him the bottle.

“We’ll let the hockey game dictate how phcking wasted we get. One shot for every penalty minute assigned to a Crimson Hawk, or goalie save. Two shots for every line change or body save made by a player other than the goalie. Three shots for every time someone gets laid out by a big hit, or a goal is scored. Four shots for a fight. Five shots for a hat trick.”

Connor fixed Gavin with a look of annoyance.

“It’s a slow game, Connor. It’ll be fine,” Gavin said. He wasn’t entirely convinced though, once he actually did the math. By this point, despite it being a slow game, they’d still have drank nearly 20 shots just in line changes alone by the end of the second period. No, that drinking game worked with beer, it didn’t work with spirits. They’d be dead by the end of the second if they followed those rules.

“...actually… you might have a phcking point, Connor. Those rules work for beer. They don’t work for shots. We’d already have had more than thirty in twenty minutes if we’d done that for the first period.

“New rules: one for every penalty assessed to a Crimson Hawk. Two for a body save by a player other than the goalie. Three for a goal. Four for a fight, five for a hat trick. That’s one shot so far. That’s reasonable, right?”

 

Despite the game having started slow, it soon ramped up. Connor watched in dismay as the two humans pounded three shots in the opening minute of the second period, followed by another three just three minutes later. The score, both teams tied at one goal each.

The average rate of alcohol absorption meant the humans wouldn’t yet feel the effects of their consumption. They’d experience that in anywhere from twenty minutes to forty minutes from now.

By his calculations, by then, Reed’s BAC would be well over the point of feeling buzzed to being significantly impaired, particularly for his fine motor control. Hank would be slurring his words. However, until they felt the effects of the alcohol, it would be challenging to get them to stop.This was particularly true for Hank.

By the time the humans drank their next shot, they were both speaking with a slight slur to their speech. Though probably not pronounced enough for humans to pick up on it, it was detectable to Connor.

This had to stop. If the humans kept drinking at this rate in the third period, Reed risked coma, possibly death. Hank’s tolerance was higher due to a higher body mass, but even he was likely to reach potentially deadly levels of intoxication. Connor swiped the bottle of whiskey from the table. “I think you’ve both had enough.”

Reed’s protest was a garbled mess of syllables that could only be referred to as speech in the loosest of definitions, and Hank was only a little better off. Both of them were close to the same level of intoxication Connor had found Hank in, on the night before the revolution.

He ignored their protests, and took the almost drained bottle into the kitchen, upending the bottle into the kitchen sink to drain what little remained, then returned to the living room. He dragged Hank onto his feet, and half carried the man to his bedroom.

Hank flopped onto his bed with no real coordination, and lay unmoving. It was a challenge to place Hank in the recovery position, as drunk as he was, but Connor did so. “Sumo,” Connor called.

The big fluffy dog padded into Hank’s room. Connor patted the bed next to Hank. “Up.”

Sumo obliged, and flopped down beside his human. Connor gave the dog a pat on the head. “Good boy. Stay.”

With Hank taken care of by Sumo, Connor returned to the living room, and lifted Reed off the davenport before carrying him to his own room. He laid Reed down on his own bed, again, placing him in the recovery position, then walked to the kitchen, and took all the bottles of alcohol from the cabinets, taking them out to the garage and leaving them hidden behind large stacks of clutter. He gave himself an additional task for the week of tidying the clutter.

Only then did Connor take a seat on the couch, setting a timer to come out of stasis every thirty minutes to check on his irresponsible human counterparts.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers suck.

Gavin woke up with his head pounding, every little noise louder than the Fourth of July. Opening his eyes was a big mistake, with a beam of sunlight streaming through the window directly into his eyes. He hissed, and hid his face under the duvet, then rolled over.

With a startled yelp, he landed on the floor, tangled in the blankets.

Footsteps approached rapidly. “Gavin? Are you okay?”

Gavin groaned, clutching his head in his hands, the noise being worse than the slight sting in his shoulder and hip from landing on the floor. “No. Phck off,” he rasped, his mouth and throat dry. Waves of nausea washed over him. “Phck, think ’m gonna hurl…”

Strong arms picked him up off the floor. “Please, not in my room. The bathroom would be preferable, it’s easier to clean.” Gavin leaned heavily into those strong arms as they carried him to the bathroom.

“Would you like some ibuprofen, Detective?”

Gavin nodded. “Yeah, Con.”

Connor set him down on the edge of the bathtub, and left.

Gavin sat quiet and still, waiting for the room to feel like it wasn’t spinning anymore. Phck, this sucked. His whole body trembled, and his heart was racing. Slowly, he lowered himself down to the floor, not sure he wouldn’t fall off his precarious perch on the edge of the bathtub.

He whined at the sound of Connor’s footfalls approaching again, and let himself slump down to lie on the cold tile floor. It felt soothing on his head, and helped to ground him.

“Detective?” Connor asked, sotto voce.

Gavin didn’t answer him.

“Detective?” more insistently this time.

“What?” Gavin grumbled, forcing himself to crack open his eyes.

“Do you mind if I monitor your vitals? I’m very concerned for your health.”

Gavin gave a non-committal shrug, and closed his eyes again.

Warm hands uncovered his wrist, and fingers pressed to his pulse point. There was no real need for Connor to make physical contact to monitor his vitals, but it felt soothing. If he was in any fit state to think about anything, he’d have questioned that.

“‘S jus’ a hangover, Con,” Gavin mumbled. “‘M fine. Prob’ly still drunk,” he suggested. It was a weak cover for the fact he was feeling the effects of Red Ice withdrawal far more keenly than the effects of a hangover.

Predictably, the android didn’t take the bait dangled in front of him. “Your symptoms are equally consistent with Red Ice withdrawal, Detective.”

Connor stood. “Stay here, Detective. I will be back.”

Gavin snorted at the stupidity of the suggestion he was going anywhere. “Okay. _T-800._ ”

“T-800?” Connor questioned. “I’m an RK800, Detective.”

“Movie,” Gavin answered shortly, not really capable of much more than that.

A few moments later, Connor spoke again. “Oh. You’re referring to a science fiction movie, released in 1984?”

“Yeah.”

“...that’s interesting. I see many parallels in naming conventions to my own reality. A T-800, made by Cyberdyne, capable of deviation, connected to the name Connor.”

Gavin nodded his head. “‘S why I didn’ trus’ you.” It wasn’t the whole truth, there was more to it than that, but Gavin really wasn’t ready to have that conversation with Connor right now. Maybe never.

“I see. Regardless, _I’ll be back_.”

Gavin was pretty sure Connor was wearing a shit-eating grin when he not only quoted Terminator, but perfectly mimicked Arnold Schwarzenegger’s voice. If there was one positive thing he could say about Connor, it was that he showed an interesting sense of humor. Richard did, too, but expressed it far less often, and was generally more serious. Dimly, it occurred to him that it was likely due to the differing influences in their lives. Connor had been guided and mentored by Hank in his early deviancy, while Richard had been stuck with Gavin.

Had Gavin’s own difficulties with social interaction impacted Richard’s development as a person? If so, it was good that they’d split up. It might mean Richard had a chance at being a more functional living being. _See, you phcking prick? I love you so much I’m willing to let you go so you can be your best self, whoever that is._

Connor’s return pulled him out of his own mind and back to the here and now. “Gavin, could you sit up, please?”

“Why? ‘M comfy here,” he griped. He wasn’t, not really. As much as the cold tile felt nice against his head, his hip, and his titanium shoulder joint, were starting to protest laying on the hard floor, but it was way too much effort to actually move to do something about it.

“Because I need you to take some medicine, and that will be more challenging if you’re laying down,” Connor explained. “I’ve brought you ibuprofen, and a bottle of Power-ade. I’d also like you to take a dose of thirium, but I won’t force you to.”

_Right… ibuprofen, now I remember._ Gavin pushed himself to a sitting position, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to combat the pang of nausea that came over him as he moved.

Connor took his hand, and opened it, palm up, before placing two ibuprofen in it. He twisted open the bottle of Power-ade, and held it in front of Gavin.

Gavin put the ibuprofen on his tongue, then washed them down with a gulp of Power-ade. Blue raspberry was definitely not his favorite flavor, and he grimaced. Even so, it washed away the taste of stale alcohol hanging around in his mouth, so he drank a few more mouthfuls of it, making sure to wash it around his mouth before swallowing. “There… y’ happy?”

“Yes,” Connor answered, then held out a teaspoon. “Would you be willing to try a dose of thirium?”

“Nope.”

Connor stuck the teaspoon in one of his pockets, and looked at Gavin. “Do you still feel nauseous?”

“Yeah.”

“Would food help?”

“Dunno,” Gavin yawned, and regretted it immediately, the expansion and contraction of his diaphragm threatening once again to make him vomit. That was definitely the after effects of the alcohol. But the pounding headache and shivers he wasn’t so convinced were alcohol-related. The best way to find out would be to take another hit of Red Ice. If it went away, it was definitely Red Ice related.

Getting hold of Red Ice with Connor breathing down his neck might be tricky, though, and the idea of dealing with both Connor and Anderson when they were angry should go against any normal person’s self-preservation instincts. Anderson had lifted Connor like he weighed nothing several times, and he and Hank had gotten into fist fights a few times in the past, so Gavin knew the man hit like a phcking freight train. He was stronger, and more nimble, than he looked, and it honestly didn’t seem like age had slowed Anderson down one bit. If Gavin lived that long, he’d be pretty phcking pleased to be that fit at 55.

A hint of a plan came to him while he tried to summon up the will to get up. He needed a few things from his apartment. That would be the best time to call his dealer and get hooked up. But that would have to wait. Right now, he just wanted to sleep.

Connor, however, seemed to have other plans, coaxing, and cajoling, until Gavin picked himself up off the floor, and staggered to the davenport in the living room. The effort exhausted him, and he fell back into a restless slumber as soon as he’d slumped into the davenport.

 

 

Thankfully, Connor let him sleep for a few more hours before waking him up again. “Gavin?” the android said, gently pushing on his shoulder.

Gavin scowled, and shrugged Connor’s hand off his shoulder.

“Gavin?”

What was it with androids being phcking persistent? “What?” he grumbled.

“You can sleep for the rest of the day if you wish, but I think you should eat something, and I thought you might want to go to your apartment to collect some of your belongings?”

Now that Connor mentioned it, and he wasn’t feeling so nauseous, he was hungry. It felt like his stomach was trying to eat itself. That he could call his dealer while he was at his apartment also crossed his mind.

He sat up slowly, his heart still racing, and still feeling dizzy. “Sure. Okay. Fine. I need some fresh clothes anyway.” _And some Red Ice_ , he added mentally.

 

 

For most of the cab ride to his apartment, Gavin and Connor sat in silence. Perhaps the silence was uncomfortable for the android, because he suddenly spoke up. “May I ask you a personal question, Detective?”

Gavin took one earphone out, and glanced at Connor. “You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna phcking answer, though.”

“Why did you join DPD?”

Gavin raised his eyebrows, surprised that was what Connor wanted to know. Convinced the android had an ulterior motive, Gavin took a moment to formulate the best way to answer the question.

“Okay… so… first things first, my uncle is a cop, so it’s a family thing. Secondly, when I was a kid, there were a lot of bad shoots against neurodivergent and mentally ill people. Lack of empathy, lack of training, whatever, it meant people like me had pretty shitty odds if an officer was called to a disturbance. I wanted to change that. I was never gonna be a lawyer or a judge or whatever, I couldn’t have gotten through law school if I tried. I’m not that kind of smart, and my family weren’t wealthy enough to send me to law school even if I’d wanted to try. So I went for the next best thing. If I became a cop, I’d be able to help directly, maybe change some peoples’ minds.

“I got into college on an athletics scholarship, playing ice hockey. Couldn’t have afforded to go, otherwise. Majored in criminal justice, of course, it meant quicker promotions, and better pay, and covered some of the pre-requirements for going to the academy.”

Gavin scowled. “I haven’t made as big a difference as I wanted. Shit hasn’t changed. ACAB.”

“ACAB, Detective?”

“All cops are bastards, me included.”

Connor’s LED cycled through yellow and back to blue again.

“Why do you care? Does it matter why I wanted to be a cop?”

“I want to get to know you better,” Connor said, “and one’s choice of employment is usually considered a safe topic of conversation.”

“You’re only asking because you’re trying to find more tools for your toolbox to get me clean,” Gavin accused. “You don’t actually care.”

“While that is part of my motivation, it is not the entirety of my motivation,” Connor said, so calmly it was irritating. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I would like to change that. As you and Richard are no longer going to be partners, it seems likely that we will be partnered together, as to a great extent, Richard and I are interchangeable as far as our work-related abilities are concerned. I would strongly prefer that we be friends, rather than adversaries. We will be more effective as a team if we are.”

Except for the use of the word _preference_ , it was the most machine-like Connor had sounded in months. Everything he’d just said sounded like it had come straight from CyberLife, rather than Connor. Gavin wrinkled his nose, and put his earphone back in. “Phcking androids,” he muttered.

 

 

Inside Gavin’s apartment, everything was in an uncomfortable disarray. The small amount of clutter Richard had contributed to the apartment was gone, leaving the space feeling stark and empty.

For a while, he stood by the door, just staring at the strange emptiness of the apartment. Gavin hadn’t really anticipated how much it would disturb his sense of coming home, to have all of Richard’s belongings absent. And for some reason, the one thing his mind fixated on as wrong, was that Richard’s ice skates weren’t stacked, in their bag, on top of his hockey bag. Why that should be the thing that drove the point home, he had no idea, but the sense of loss hit him like a crosscheck into the boards. It really was over between them.

He fumbled with his phone as he took it out of his pocket, and scrolled to his dealer’s number. He hit call, then set it to speaker phone and put it down on the coffee table. While he waited for Rolando to answer the damned phone, he went to change into fresh clothes. He’d already showered at Hank and Connor’s place, but fresh clothes were definitely needed.

Finally, Rolando answered his phcking phone. “Hey Gav, what’s up?”

Muffled by his shirt being pulled over his head, Gavin spoke a bit louder to be sure he’d be heard. “Want a few more dollars in your pocket?”

“Always. What do you need?”

“Same as usual.”

“Cool, yeah, I can do that. When do you want it?”

Gavin stuffed a few more changes of clothes into his bag. “It cool if I swing by your place in about four hours?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Gavin stepped over to his phone. “See you in a few hours,” he said, then ended the call. He swiped his laptop off the coffee table, and stuffed it and the charger for it in his bag, then went to the bathroom to pack a few toiletries. He hid a few fidget toys in the pockets on the front of the bag, along with a companion he’d had since he was a child, a small Grumpy Cat plush. He rarely hugged it, as it had gotten fragile after so many years, but it was comforting to have it around, especially when he didn’t have real flesh and blood cats.

While his lease agreement did allow him to have cats, he’d been without a cat for a long time, still grieving the loss of his two Savannah cats, Tardar and Pancake. He paused by the shadowboxes with their collars, a favorite toy each, imprints of their paw pads, and digital photo frames in them, and stroked his fingers over the glass fronts, watching the pictures change a few times. Losing them both so close to one another had devastated him, and had sent him back into a downward spiral that had pushed him back to Red Ice after being clean for a while.

He still missed the fuzzy little phcks, but the hole in his heart just wasn’t healed enough yet, any cat he got would just fall right through that hole in his heart. “See you later, girls. Going to stay with someone else for a week. Be good.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know you.

Gavin stepped back outside to see Connor rolling his coin across his knuckles while he people-watched. The smile Connor gave him was so genuine, Gavin felt guilty for what he’d just organized. He just hoped Connor’s super-android detection skills didn’t tip Connor off that he was planning something.

“I see why you like it here,” Connor said as he put his coin back in his pocket. “It’s very busy here during the day. There are a lot of dogs here too. I met a dalmation, two poodles, another Saint Bernard, and someone walking a  _ cat.  _ I didn’t know people walked cats.”

Gavin’s heart twinged for his girls. “I used to walk my cats. They needed more exercise than they could reasonably get in my apartment, but I didn’t want them walking around unsupervised.”

Connor grinned at him, and it was hard not to compare the way Connor grinned with the way Richard did. Richard’s grins were awkward and shy, and showed more in his eyes, while Connor’s grin was carefree and easy. “You had cats and you walked them?”

“Yeah, they passed away just before you showed up,” Gavin said, heart still heavy. “Savannah cats.”

Connor’s LED blinked rapidly for a moment. “They were part wild cat?”

“Yeah. Tardar was a quarter serval, Pancake was one sixteenth serval. They were crossed with Peterbalds, which is a Russian hairless breed. It took me a long time to find a breeder who was working on that cross, because both are very rare in the US. I ended up importing them from Russia. Most expensive pets I’ve ever owned, and worth every damned cent and then some. Tardar was bigger than some dogs, and Pancake was about the same size as a Maine Coon, but way more feisty. Mom had Maine Coons when I was a kid.”

Connor’s grin dialled down to a gentle smile. “Do you have pictures of them?”

“Thousands. They had their own Instagram. They were Instagram stars, despite my shitty photography skills. I didn’t get into the art side of photography until they got big on Instagram.” Gavin opened up Instagram on his phone to show Connor a few pictures.

“They were beautiful cats. Did they feel interesting to touch?”

Gavin nodded. “They both felt a bit like really fuzzy peaches. I had to put sweaters and coats on them in the winter, because it was too cold for them.” He flicked through his pictures for one showing Tardar and Pancake dressed up in coats while out on a walk in the local park. It had been one of the last ones he’d taken of them together.

Connor looked at the picture carefully. “They were beautiful. I like their big ears and long legs.”

Gavin smiled slightly, and put his phone back into his pocket. “As much as I liked talking about my cats, it’s still a sensitive subject. Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course. I’m sorry to bring up a painful topic for you. What would you like to talk about?”

Gavin shrugged. “Phck if I know.” He considered for a moment, then ever so briefly met Connor’s eyes with his own. “You know more about me than I know about you. My turn to ask questions.”

Connor nodded. “That would be fair. What would you like to know about me?”

“Dog person, or all-around animal lover?”

“I like all animals, but I prefer dogs or fish.”

“That explains the fish tank in your room. What are those fish?”

“Dwarf gourami. They remind me of my first mission. I think, looking back on it with the knowledge I have now, it was the first sign I might be deviant. I got them because Hank said I should have a pet of my own. He considers it a rite of passage to have a living being you are solely responsible for.”

“Interesting. Richard told me he’s not comfortable with owning another living being.”

“He told me the same. It’s not very common among deviants. Most deviants express a need for animal companionship in some way. One I attempted to arrest felt a kinship with pigeons.”

Gavin grimaced. “Sky rats? Eurgh, why would you want to spend time with those filthy things?”

Connor laughed. “There is an android I know who feels that way about humans.”

Gavin racked his brain. “North, right? Richard mentioned her before. He said she’s very pretty, and very feisty, but has eyes only for Markus.”

“Yes, that’s North. Markus is more interested in Simon. They’d be a very cute couple if they’d stop dancing around the issue and just talk to each other about their feelings for each other. Despite leading the revolution, Markus is actually painfully shy, and very guarded with his emotions. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr Manfred plays matchmaker if Markus and Simon don’t figure it out soon. Mr Manfred is very fond of Simon too. I think he wants them to hurry up and get married so he can actually attend the wedding. Realistically, he doesn’t have much time left, with his health deteriorating as it has been.”

Gavin shrugged. “North will figure it out eventually, I guess? Probably just hero worship being mistaken for something else.”

“That sounds like something you’ve learned from experience.”

“You could say that,” Gavin said.  _ Phck knows I went through that shit with Anderson years ago. So phcking stupid pursuing something that could never phcking happen. Married, and a superior, and probably straight as a phcking arrow.  _ “But I don’t want to talk about that.”

“What would you like to talk about, Detective?”

Gavin shrugged. The subjects he wanted to talk about would bore most people to tears, and had, more than once, because once he got onto one of his special interests, he was a like a goddamn cat with a mouse, he was not letting it go. “I dunno, but I definitely need to eat something.”

“We could go eat lunch,” Connor suggested.

“Restaurants always mess up my order, and put foods next to each other that shouldn’t be.”

Connor looked thoughtful for a moment, then his LED flickered. “I think I know a restaurant that you won’t have to worry about that,” he said.

Gavin looked at him, a doubtful frown on his face.

“Why don’t you at least go there with me, then make your mind up?” Connor suggested with a very encouraging tone in his voice. It wasn’t quite patronising, but it definitely toed the line.

Gavin scowled. “Watch it with that patronising shit, Connor. You probably don’t mean to do it, but even so, that shit’s not okay.”

“Sorry, Detective. I was not aware that what I said could be interpreted that way. Now that you have pointed it out, I shall refrain from doing so again.”

“Yeah. Cool.” Gavin scrunched up his nose while he considered Connor’s suggestion, and played with one of his fidget toys in his pocket. “Okay, sure, I’ll go to the restaurant.”

 

The automated taxi pulled up outside the Motorcity Casino. Gavin quirked an eyebrow. “A casino? You’re thinking the buffet is a solution?”

“Correct. It gives you the freedom to arrange the food on your plate as you wish, and few will judge your choice of food.”

“Huh. Not bad, ti — Connor.”

Connor smiled. “Thank you for not calling me tincan. Lunch is my treat. I can’t eat, but it’s enjoyable to people watch, nonetheless.”

Gavin climbed out of the taxi and waited for Connor. “I had a case here, once,” he said as he walked toward the door. “Back when I’d just been promoted into Vice. The casino thought someone was hacking the slots to better their odds.”

“Were they?”

“Sorta. It was pretty impressive. They used the androids’ wireless communication to monitor payouts on the machines. They must have gathered data for weeks to do it. They’d monitor the number of times a machine was used, using the androids as sort of a spy network, then just before a slot machine was due to pay out, they’d swoop in and use it.

“I think if he hadn’t needed to send data to the androids, we might never have caught it. He slipped up when we were there. He didn’t just send this signal out to the casino’s androids, it was sent out to all androids in the vicinity, and it tripped one of the PC200’s security protocols.”

“Which PC200?” Connor asked.

“That weird one who juggles.”

“Brooks,” Connor said. “Did you know he was deviant before CyberLife sent me to investigate deviants?”

Gavin’s raised his eyebrows. “Shit, really?”

“Yes, and he kept it very well concealed. I didn’t find out until after the declaration of android rights.”

“...should’ve guessed with the juggling. That’s weird,” Gavin said.

“It is odd, but easily explained as a form of hand-eye coordination calibration similar to my coin tricks. I dismissed it as insignificant. Honestly, it didn’t actually occur to me to check for deviancy within DPD’s androids. They were not the focus of my investigation. In hindsight, this highlights one problem with setting non-deviants to perform a task - they’ll do exactly what they’re instructed to do.”

Gavin huffed a laugh. “Because they’re very literal. Like me. Believe me, I know that problem really well. So… next question: among the androids at the station, you’re one of the most talkative. Are you guys all friendly acquaintances, or do you have office drama just like the humans do?”

“I am respected, but those who deviated before I joined DPD still distrust me. However, for the most part, we are a cohesive group. We don’t need to gossip about each other, because we tend to share our thoughts fairly freely. However, there has been gossip about Brooks and Sergeant Poole lately.”

“Such as?”

“It’s not my place to say. It’s unsubstantiated rumors and hearsay,” Connor said.

“They do seem pretty close,” Gavin said. “But I figure that’s probably because they live and work together, and Brooks helps Poole with some of the limitations of his disability.”

“That is surprisingly close to the mark for guessing the nature of the gossip.”

“Well, you know for a fact I didn’t get my promotions from my charming personality,” Gavin quipped.

The buffet was busy with the lunch crowd, patrons meandering along the buffet, or back to their tables, or chatting loudly with their lunch companions. Here and there, androids milled about in the crowd, some in the casino’s uniforms, others in civilian clothing. The sights and sounds, and the smell of the mixture of food was too much to process, and Gavin stopped dead in his tracks. He closed his eyes, and covered his ears to drown out some of his senses so he could just process everything at his own speed.

“Are you okay, Detective?”

“I will be. Just… be quiet.”

Eventually, the combination of smells faded into the background, and Gavin uncovered his ears. He listened for a while, identifying regular sounds from irregular sounds until the regular sounds became just background noise. Finally, he opened his eyes.

Connor was watching him, his LED glowing yellow. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it was just too much to process. I had so many things demanding my attention all at once that I couldn’t think. It’s not normally this bad, but this is one of the problems with being hungover, it kind of amplifies this problem for me. That’s why, mostly, I don’t drink.”

“May I ask a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Is it overwhelming when you go to a hockey arena?”

“Yes? But it’s something I prepare for all day. I’m usually excited to go. This was kind of dropped on me out of the blue, and I wasn’t really ready for it like I would be for something that was planned in advance.”

“I see. Does this happen to you at crime scenes too?”

“No. The flashing lights, sirens, CSIs traipsing about all over the place is just routine at this point. It’s familiar. It could be a bit much sometimes, back when I started, but now, it’s not really a problem. Same with the bullpen. Before I moved to Central, I had a desk in a little back room that nobody really used for anything. I could just close the door and have some peace and quiet if I needed it. I got a lot of shit for that from other officers who thought someone low ranking shouldn’t have an office, mostly because they were pissed they didn’t get their own office. The chief shut it down by saying there were medical reasons for it, and left it at that. The chief there was really good, actually, very good at managing people. I went to his retirement party last year. He’s one of just a handful of people I send Christmas cards to. My parents and Tina are the others.”

“You and Tina are very close friends. How long have you known each other?”

“Shit... decades. We knew each other in high school. We were so close that our parents thought we’d be high school sweethearts, kept trying to get us to date.” Gavin laughed at the memories. “Eventually, we went on a date just to shut our parents up. That was before we both came out. We went to prom together too, because the school had this stupid heteronormative policy about only being allowed to attend with a date of the opposite gender. Total bullshit. I only went so Tina could try for prom queen. She didn’t win it. The girl that did win it was a total bitch. Now though, she’s a nicer person. I think when she got out into the real world, she learned fast that she was not the big fish in a big pond, just a small fish in a whole phcking sea. Married with kids, now, last I saw on Facebook. No, before you ask, I didn’t win prom king either. Wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. Sure, I’m ambitious and all, but that was never one of my goals.”

Connor nodded, and smiled. “I think it’s really good that you have Tina as a friend. She’s a lovely person.”

“Lovely? Sometimes. She has a thing for letting people make their own dumb mistakes and learning from them, so she’ll quite happily stand back and let me do dumb shit, then ask _what did you learn?_ ” He mimicked her sarcastic tone. “But only if it’s not going to get someone hurt. Tell you what, she’s got a mean right hook, too. She is a lot stronger than she looks!”

“You do have a propensity for getting into fights. Is that how you learned she has a mean right hook?”

Gavin laughed. “No. Hell no. I learned when I saw her deck a perp Hank’s size for cracking a racist joke about all asian people knowing a martial art. She doesn’t, but she does do boxing.”

Connor’s eyebrow quirked. “She hit a perpetrator for making a racist joke? Isn’t that a violation of policy?”

“Yeah, remember I said earlier that all cops are bastards? We’re just like everyone else. We have emotions, we can be pushed too far, we can lose our temper over stupid shit. Difference is, we have a badge, and that often means the consequences aren’t as severe as they would be for a civilian. Detroit Police has had a reputation for that shit since it was founded, to be honest. It’s part of the culture, and either you fit in, or you get hung out to dry. That’s why I haven’t been able to change shit. I’m working against centuries of corruption. I’ve given up trying, to be honest. I like my job, I like my paychecks. Maybe if I ever made Police Chief I could make a difference, but… I think I burned that bridge a long time ago. I seriously doubt I’ll ever get any higher than Lieutenant, and even that’s looking unlikely. I may be one of the best at my job, and Hank may be close to retirement, but I just don’t think I’m going to be the one who gets promoted. I don’t have the people skills for Fowler’s job, not really, and for promotion to Lieutenant, I haven’t done my time at rank as a Sergeant, and my career, while good, doesn’t exactly shine like Anderson’s did. Especially not after yesterday.”

Gavin looked sidelong at Connor. “Besides, I don’t think you have room to criticise us for that. You accessed the evidence locker without proper authorization after you were taken off the case and were meant to return to CyberLife. Pretty sure that was a criminal offense.”

“A fair point,” Connor ceded.

“And that’s why I can’t fight that cultural attitude in DPD. It always starts small, and for the right reason at the time, but break the rules enough with no consequences, and it’s easier to keep getting further and further out of line. And nobody discourages it, because if they did, they know the brotherhood wouldn’t protect them when they finally messed up bigtime.” Gavin glanced around them, “but I think maybe this conversation isn’t the sort of conversation we’re supposed to have in public, Connor. This shit can cause trouble for cops later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been calling this chapter the Breakfast at Tiffanys chapter, because this, really, is the start of something special. I also want to apologise for being a little later than usual posting this. Circle the Drain is going on a temporary hiatus - health problems have prevented me from working on this story, as typing is sometimes too painful to do, due to a trapped nerve in my neck.


End file.
